The Buried Book (11 page)

CHAPTER 20

It says here you ran away from home at a young age. What set you off?

At first, the room looked no better or worse than the others in the apartment. Clothes were scattered across the ground. All the drawers had been pulled from the bureaus and tossed in heaps onto his mother’s favorite rug, its violet and pink flowers crushed by the broken wood. A shattered lamp lay in the corner.

Jasper took a cautious step into the room. His mother’s jewelry box had been dumped onto the floor next to the open closet. Under the pile of rhinestones and plastic pearls, his mother’s favorite necklace lay facedown on the rug. He snatched it up off the floor. Its beaded pendant was heavy in his palm. Two of the tiny shells were cracked. The rest wove together into tight concentric circles, forming a mosaic of colorful flowers in a field of white. When he was younger, it had been the exact size of his palm. Curled up on his mother’s lap, he would trace the swirling colors and the symbol in the very center that looked like an
S
laid on its side.

What does it mean?
he’d ask, running his finger over the odd emblem.

It’s just pretty. That’s all. Not everything has to mean something,
she’d say.

It
was
pretty. The shiny beads spun on their threads as he rubbed them between his fingers. He scanned the floor again and saw the rest of his mother’s favorite things. Her blue dress. The fluttery blouse with the ruffled collar. Her red shoes. He frowned as he cataloged each of them. Everything she loved was still there, trampled on the ground.

He squeezed the necklace, then slipped the beaded loop over his head. The pendant looked silly on him, hanging down to his belly button, but she wouldn’t want it left on the floor. She’d be furious if she could see her room. The bed had been stripped of its sheets and blankets, leaving the mattress naked and skewed on the frame. Dark yellow and brown stains dotted the fabric. It was like glimpsing under his mother’s skirt by accident. He shouldn’t be in there.

He spun back to the open doorway and startled at what he saw.

Odd colors were sprayed across the wallpaper in a large plume the size of a beach ball. It looked like an exploded firecracker. It wasn’t quite red, but it wasn’t quite brown. Several large drips ran down from the center toward the floor.

A streak of rusty red ran in a crooked smear down the wallpaper next to the door. Squinting at it, Jasper reached out and touched a frozen drip with his fingertip. It crackled to pieces. He studied the dried flecks of color on his skin. It looked just like the crust that had come off Wayne’s hands after he’d helped butcher Sally. It was blood.

Jasper’s heart thudded in his ears. He could see it everywhere now. Brown spots on the mattress. A spray of black across his mother’s carpet and on the wood floor at his feet. Dark droplets on the floorboards passed under his boots and trailed out the door.

He followed the scattered stains out into the hall. He tried to tell himself the dark spots could be mud as he traced them past the kitchen, through the living room, and to the front door. There was a red smear below the doorknob.

Two fingerprints were pressed in red. He reached out to touch one of them but stopped himself.

Burglars.
His father had said it was burglars. Jasper scanned the room behind him, searching for anything missing in the wreckage. They didn’t have much. His father was a line worker at the auto plant, and his mother worked at the dairy. She hated it but said she had no choice. They needed the money, that’s what she said.

Althea!
Jasper could still hear his father calling out to her as he’d plowed through the mess the night before. He turned back to the blood on the door. His mother’s hands were large for a woman. She kept her nails short so she could work the register and adding machines. Jasper reached up to touch one of the fingerprints.

A hard pound on the door knocked him back on his heels. The doorknob rattled.

“Jasper? Jasper, are you in there?” a deep voice demanded. “This is Detective Russo.”

Another hard knock. Jasper clamped his mouth shut. The detective was there to take him away to God knows where. He’d take him away from his father, he realized, feeling the bruise around his eye. He’d wanted to know if his father had slapped his mother around. His black eye would be proof his father was the villain. There was blood all over the apartment. Jasper knew in his heart his father hadn’t hurt her, but no one would believe a kid. He held his breath, hoping the man would go away.

The door pushed against the dead bolt.

Jasper staggered back. His suitcase was sitting right next to the entry. The diary inside it was still his best hope of ever finding her. He snatched the bag off the ground and flew down the hallway to the first open door. It was the bathroom. He slipped inside and locked the knob.

The front door slammed open. “Jasper? You shouldn’t be in here, kid. This is a crime scene . . . Mrs. Carbo is very worried about you . . . I need you to cooperate with me. We’ll keep you safe.”

Jasper backed up into the bathtub and slid the shower curtain closed. The good little boy he’d been raised to be knew he should obey the man, but his guts told him not to.

He stared through the blue flowered curtain, realizing what a lousy hiding place he was in. Any second the policeman would find him and snatch him away forever.

If any strangers come to the door, you hide, baby. You hide and stay hidden,
his mother had said to him the last time she’d left him home alone so she could go to work.

What if I can’t?
he’d asked, panicked at the thought of having to hide. She’d always told him not to worry when she’d leave, but that time it was different. He could tell by her voice.
What if they find me?

You gotta outsmart ’em,
she’d said.
You know this place better than any stranger, right? What do we do when there’s a fire? Remember?

Jasper shook his head.

Sure you do. What are those ladders for outside the windows? What are they called? Think, baby.

Fire escapes?

That’s right. You can climb out any window on the east side, and there’s a ladder. Strangers don’t know about them. Understand?

Jasper had nodded even though he was fairly certain she’d gone crazy. The fire escapes were old and rusted, and he was scared of heights. And he’d been confused. She’d always told him to go find Mrs. Carbo if he needed help, and no one ever came to their door.

Except once,
he realized. He’d been much younger. There had been a soft knock, and he had whispered through the closed door,
Who is it?

The detective’s heavy steps rumbled past the bathroom door to the bedrooms. “Jasper? I can’t help you unless you answer me, boy.” His voice sounded angry.

Jasper spun around to the window in the bathtub wall and pulled back the yellowed linen. Outside the glass, the black iron railing of the fire escape hung in midair. Staring through the metal grate, he could see the sidewalk twelve feet down. Jasper swallowed hard and unlocked the window.

Down the hall, the door to his bedroom slammed open, and he could hear the detective sifting through the debris and moving furniture aside in the room next door. He lifted the window sash as quietly as he could. Its counterweights clanked inside the wall. Cool morning air hissed into his face, billowing the shower curtain behind him. He slid his suitcase onto the fire escape and climbed out onto the metal landing on his hands and knees.

Fear sent jolts of electricity through his limbs as he pulled himself up onto the rickety platform. Behind him, narrow stairs led up to the third floor and then onto the roof. In front of him, an iron ladder reached up into the sky, leading nowhere. It took several moments for Jasper to figure out it had been lifted up off of the ground. Its rails were attached to wheels. He grabbed a rung and gave it a gentle tug. It didn’t budge.
This is a huge mistake,
he thought, looking back through the open bathroom window. He was disobeying a grown-up. He was running away from a policeman. But it was worse than that. There was blood everywhere.
Maybe they’ll think it’s my fault. Maybe someone died. Maybe it was her.
His knees buckled under him.

There was a pounding on the bathroom door. An angry voice bellowed, “Jasper?”

No. It’ll be okay.
Jasper forced himself back up.
The detective will know what to do. I’m just a kid.
As he slid the window shut behind him, he heard the locked doorknob on the opposite side of the bathroom rattle violently.

“Son of a bitch!” the detective muttered.

Bam!

It sounded like a kick to the door. There wasn’t any time.

Jasper threw his suitcase from the second-floor landing down into the alley below. It popped open on impact. He nearly lost his nerve.

Bam!

Jasper jumped onto the raised ladder as hard as he could. The lowering mechanism slowly screeched to life as the rusted wheels began to turn. Jasper grabbed the side rails and slammed his feet down on the rung over and over, dropping the stubborn ladder farther and farther until it screamed to a halt two feet above the sidewalk.

As he leapt to the ground, a window over his head slammed open.

“Jasper!” the detective shouted from the bathtub. “Where the hell do you think you’re going, boy?”

Jasper kept his bruised face turned to the pavement and didn’t answer. He gathered up his mother’s diary and the rest of his things into his suitcase and took off running down the alley. As he rounded the corner onto South Main, he glanced back at the window. The detective was gone.

Jasper could hardly feel his legs as they carried him to the next block.
This is crazy.
He was going to get caught. His father would never forgive him. There was no place to hide. A police siren would scream up behind him any minute. He was a criminal. They would probably throw him in jail. They might even give him the electric chair.

He sprinted past Mickey’s Convenience, the dry cleaner’s, and Sampson’s Auto Repair. All the shops had “Closed” signs hanging in the windows. It was a Sunday. He wanted to scream for help, but the street was empty. He turned the corner and bolted down the next street and then the next.

The signs and awnings became a blur of colors as the wind fell out of him. He couldn’t run anymore. The suitcase hung limply from his hand as he staggered down the sidewalk. He had no idea which street he was on.

A block ahead, a door stood open. Jasper gathered another deep breath and barreled toward it. He didn’t stop to read the sign. Inside was a small shop with pictures of ladies on one side and a tall wood counter on the other. There was nowhere to hide. The women plastered across the wall leered at him with dark eyes. Many were bending over and some were lifting their skirts. He stepped back aghast and bumped into the counter. The bell on top jingled softly.

A snort came from the behind the counter.

A bleary-eyed old man stood up from his chair. A cigarette dangled from his lip with a long column of ash hanging from its end. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, yes. Excuse me, sir. Do you have a bathroom?” Jasper panted.

“Does this look like the public restroom, boy? This place ain’t for kids. Beat it.” The long ash fell onto the countertop. He didn’t seem to notice; he just waved Jasper to the door and plopped back down again.

Jasper nodded, glancing back at the ladies on the wall. The man was obviously right, but there was nowhere else to go. Somewhere out there, Detective Russo was waiting for him, and he was furious. He would take him to jail or an orphanage or wherever really bad boys go. He’d never find his mother or his father now.

The ladies on the wall glowered at him as he sank against the counter and put his head in his hands.

A noise came from behind the counter. There was some mumbling and then another snort. It took a second for Jasper to register the sound. The clerk had fallen back to sleep.

Jasper peeked over the top. The man’s head had lolled back against the wall with the cigarette still stuck in his mouth. Looking frantically around the shop, he caught sight of a narrow doorway in the far corner. It might lead to the restrooms or to some place he could hide. The clerk would think he’d left.

Biting his lip, Jasper picked up his bag and took a tentative step toward the doorway. The snoring just got louder. Inch by inch, he made his way past the counter and slipped into a dark corridor.

Once he was out of sight, he breathed a little easier. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. The dimly lit hallway was lined with doors. There were ten of them. Jasper crept past several, debating which one to open. Out in the shop, he heard the ring of a bell.

“Anybody home?” a deep voice asked. It was the detective.

There was a loud snuff and snort before the clerk finally answered. “Yeah. Can I help you?”

Jasper scrambled to the end of the corridor, searching for an exit. All the doors were shut.

“I’m looking for my son,” the detective’s voice echoed down from the lobby.

Son?
Jasper stopped.

“No sons here. This ain’t a kid-friendly shop, if you know what I mean.”

“He’s lost. I saw the open door, and I thought he might have wandered in. Do you mind if I look around?”

“Yeah, I mind. This ain’t a lost and found,” the clerk barked. “You wanna come in, you gotta pay just like everybody else.”

“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear.” A loud thump reverberated down the hall.

Jasper scrambled to the nearest doorknob. Locked.

“Whoa. Hey, buddy. Take it easy. Take it easy . . .”

A door opened next to him, and a woman’s heavily made-up face poked out of a pool of light. She locked eyes with Jasper for a beat and opened her mouth to yell. Her gaze darted from his bag to his black eye. Her face softened, and she motioned him toward her.